“If you break your plaything yourself, dear,
Don’t you cry for it all the same?
I don’t think it is such a comfort,
One has only oneself to blame.
IX.
“People say things cannot be helped, dear,
But then that is the reason why;
For if things could be helped or altered,
One would never sit down to cry:
X.
“They say, too, that tears are quite useless
To undo, amend, or restore,—
When I think how useless, my Effie,
Then my tears only fall the more.
XI.
“All to-day I struggled against it;
But that does not make sorrow cease;
And now, dear, it is such a comfort
To be able to cry in peace.
XII.
“Though wise people would call that folly,
And remonstrate with grave surprise;
We won’t mind what they say, my Effie;—
We never professed to be wise.
“But my comforter knows a lesson
Wiser, truer than all the rest:-
That to help and to heal a sorrow,
Love and silence are always best.